In the Library

My name is Alex Cain, and I will soon be accused of murder, and I shall be executed for it, and that will save me. For I have a plan.

But the women have made it complicated, and I am also shadowed about this city by a stranger who they say has my own face. I am curious about that, to some small extent, but not too concerned. For if he is who I think he is, then my plan will succeed, despite the peril that is contained within it.

But the women have made it complicated. Alexandra my mother and Grace my daughter; my God, what a tangled web has been woven. Or perhaps a badness has been spun. Still, there is a saying that blood is thicker than water, and the Cain women have the witchery in this family, and they excel at it. I don't. I think something has passed me by, or my brains are perhaps quite small. I do not know.

My time is spent between the chamber by the lake in which Edisson's machine rests, and Grace's apartment under the clock tower. I work on the accelerator to make sure that it will not fail me when next I depart, and Grace works on me, that she may know me who has been a stranger for all of her life. And Alexandra has told me of my birth and the forgotten Catherine and I have to believe Alexandra's tell of her aunt, because despite all of the words, the name Catherine remains a name, no more.

For the accelerator has a permanent effect of erasing memories of those I can never see again, so it is certain that Alexandra will be lost utterly to me because she surely will be dead when next the machine stops. And I will not know Grace, but she will know me.

But the women do not know what I plan, so there are secrets here that I must not reveal. So my life is a curious double one.

But it is also a pleasing one. Grace, it seems, is her mother's daughter in that she too understands the blood line and the conjuring necessary to keep it alive, and she too is learning the witchery. And it appears that there is a new animus in the blood, that was a gift from a cat, and it is within Grace now, and she is learning fast. Grace certainly leads her own life, and I am a small part of it, but she is also mysterious.

Recently, she has started to take herself away from the apartment for a day or two at a time, and then she returns, sometimes unexpectedly, sometimes at the same hour each day. It is strange, sometimes, for she will greet me as if I have been long lost or myself gone many days.

"Grace," I will say, "I saw you last Tuesday, and it is only Thursday." Still, she has a strong passion upon her, those days, and it is worth being in her way when the passion breaks.

There is a strange paleness to her, some days, as if she were translucent and her milky white skin the most fragile covering of her muscles and bones. Her high breasts will have a delicate, fine tracery of veins blue against her whiteness, with her rich red nipples jutting firm, hard to the palm of my hands and she moans as I press against her breasts and take the hard weight of them into my hands. I love the full weight and round firmness of her breasts, lush and high on her chest, a fullness, and with a deep cleavage between.

On other days there will be darkness to her skin, as if she is shadowed and in a penumbra, and it is as if her muscles have a different tone, and a leanness and a wiry strength to them. And it is strange, and I think a trick of the light, for some days it is as if the fine hairs on her arm are darker, as if there is a fine down upon them. It is often like this after she has been away a day or two.

Tonight she has returned from several nights away, and she has run herself a bath and languishes there in the heat and has taken a razor to her smooth skin. Through the open door I see one long elegant leg raised and propped on the side of the bath, and I watch as she takes her razor and slides it up her leg so her skin will be so smooth when finally she wraps a silk gown around herself and comes to our bed. And she is methodical and patient with the slide of the steel on her skin, and careful with the sharpness.

Then she stands in the bath and applies soap to the base of her belly, and slowly and carefully removes all of the tightly coiled hair that is triangled there, so that she is completely smooth. The rise of her mound is traced with a glistening of bubbles which shimmer and burst as she moves, and the small lips of her sex are a neat cleft, slightly curving a little up her belly. So too does she remove the hair from the pits of her arms, black and coiled for she is dark haired, and tonight the skin on her limbs is dark.

"Alex, come dry me, I am tired." She calls to me and I reach for a towel and wrap it warm around her as she stands by the bath. I reach the towel around her, and as I wipe down the water from her back I feel a strange ridge along the line of her shoulder blades, that is new and was not there the last time I was with her. As I dry her body, I slowly turn her away from me so that I can see her back. And I am curious, for there along the edge of her shoulder blades, on both sides where the bone juts prominent under the skin, I see a pair of dark ridges, each one eight inches long, on both sides of her back, and bumped with a row of small black follicles, as if her hair was hugely grown and thick. I trace a finger along the ridge and Grace does not react. It is as if she does not know the new strangeness is even there.

But her body is rich and delectable, and her new smoothness is different and soft under my lips and tongue, and the tidy cleft of her sex is smooth and fresh at the base of her belly. Some water droplets trail down the curves of her hips and down her thighs, and my fingers follow them. She widens her stance on the floor, and her legs are taut and the gap at the top wide and enticing, her lips with their own dew glistening there. And I gently press one finger between the slim lips and press it on into her wetness. I look up to her face and she gazes down at me with wide eyes, her mouth a round O of inhaled pleasure, and her eyes widening at the push of my finger.

Grace places both of her hands on my face as I kneel before her, her palms on my cheeks to hold my head still, and I feel a tight clench upon my finger inside her, a pull upwards into her. And my finger sinks entirely inside and she gently rocks and pivots on it, and the knuckle of my middle finger presses into the heat of her tight anus and I can feel that muscle pulse and open and close. I ease my finger down from inside her so that I can straighten both fingers, and then press my hand upwards once more. My forefinger slides easily into her cunt which Is wetter and slicker now, and the straightened finger next to it is an exquisite fit for her tighter channel.

As I press up into her she bears down ever so slightly, as if to speed the spearing of her cunt and ass upon my fingers. And then they are both deep inside her, one finger gripped and wet, the other gripped tight and hard. She clenches, and both fingers are squeezed. She rocks, my fingers within her. The muscles of her legs are tight and taut, and I glance upwards, and see that her head is arched back now, her throat long. Her body is moving so slowly upon my hand that her breasts barely move. Her nipples are long and hard.

And then there is a pair of hands upon her breasts, each palm a cup and slender fingers pressing into her flesh. I look up, and once again Grace's mouth is an O, and she gasps. "Mother, what do you do here?"

"Hush child, let me stay."

Alexandra has stepped silently into the room and stands behind the girl, her hands upon those younger, fuller breasts, and she is slow and gentle with her caress, for a mother is always gentle with her child. I gaze up at Alexandra from my kneeling place and she is behind Grace and to one side so that I can see half her body, which is clad in a long flowing leather skirt and bodice, both made of old leather which is soft and supple with its age. Her bodice is tightly laced and her breasts are slight and small, a contrast to those of Grace, which are full and high and round, and naked with her long tight nipples. Alexandra is slender and slight and fey, and her daughter my sister is curved and full and supple. Alexandra's hair is long and silver like molten metal down her back, and Grace's hair is short and midnight black.

Alexandra's leg is thrust forward and her leather skirt falls away between her legs, and her flesh is enticing. With my one pair of fingers splicing Grace's centre and she grips me tight into her, I touch my other hand to Alexandra's leg, on the inside of it, and she moves it forward at my touch to make it easy for me, and I slide my fingers up her calf and thigh until the tips of them are at the touch of her wet heat, for she too is slick and aroused. I cannot see my hand now, as it is covered by the leather which flows over my arm like a softness.

And my fingers probe to the centre of this proud woman who has lived a life and borne her children, and her birthing place is no longer for that role, but has returned to its pleasuring heat, and is wet with arousal, not blood. My two fingers are straight and firm, and one tip is on the hot throb of her ass hole, and the other thrusts into the easier slide of her wet sex. And like Grace, the older woman also pushes down just a little to force the rims and ridges of her tightest hole onto the press of my finger. So she too is pierced by my fingers.

I kneel before these two beautiful women, one older and no longer a girl, but lean and lithe; the other young and still a girl, but ripe and full; my upright hands like a prayer with my fingers gripped and held tight by the two of them, their cunts and asses gripping and holding me and they are impaled on me and we are all joined through my fingers.

There is a stillness in the room, and a rising heat, and my prick has risen strong between my thighs. But it beats alone to my heart, as my hands are trapped at the groins of the two women, and they are standing tall, their legs straight and taut with the tension of their muscles deep in their tight places.

Their hands are upon each other, at their hips and waists and breasts, for Grace has unlinked the laces of Alexandra's bodice, and her slight breasts are free to be palmed and caressed by the younger woman's soft hands. And my hands are pivots upon which they twist and circle while their hands weave and trace, and their tongues push and their lips suck.

I lean forward on my knees, and lick my mouth and tongue to their risen clitorises, one at a time. I suck their little bright pearls into my mouth and slick a long wetness over their buds with my tongue. Both women twitch and tighten as I do so, and their tightening clench on my trapped fingers in the centre and wetness of their heat is an echo to the thrust of my tongue. As I tongue Alexandra's silver trimmed sex and fold out the butterfly wings of her lips, her ass tightens and I offer her a deepened twist in her dark channel, and I sense rather than know that her tight tongue echoes that thrust into the sweet mouth of her daughter, my sister.

And then I suckle and twist my tongue into Grace's smoothness and her sex lips are a thin tight line of red purple flesh pointing to the pulse of her clit, and I sense too that her mouth sucks on Alexandra's lips and tongue and there is an echoed throb through both their bodies and a rising heat. I look up and see heavy breasts cupped and pressed by Alexandra's hands, and hard nipples tugged and tightened by Grace's finger and thumbs. And their hands alternately caress each other's back and their asses, and squeeze there, and they caress my face and touch my hair.

I feel through my fingers an urgency upon them and I deliberately thrust my fingers up into their wet and tight holes, and with my fingers I start a faster fuck to their cunts and anuses, and my tongue is hard upon each their risen clitoris. And I feel the younger woman intensify her grip and cunting grab and she is becoming faster and more urgent in her movements, for she is younger and less certain of the inevitability of her cresting orgasm, whereas the older woman is indeed certain and knows how she will take her pleasure and is slower and more persistent with her rising heat.

And we both concentrate on Grace, and she is an oblivion to rational sense now, as her orgasm rises within her, pressed along by the thrusting push of my fingers, the long lick of my tongue, and the firm push of Alexandra's hands. And she topples over into her open mouthed O, and her eyes roll back, and there is a guttural "yeeessss" from the depths of her throat, as she arcs her body and grasps my fingers high within her. And there she is, helpless and near swooning in her coming, and she is supported by Alexandra who surrounds her, and I, Alex, whose hand is a prayer within her.

As she rides to her cresting surge, so too does the rolling sea of their passion crest and break over the older woman, and there is a high, soft pant in the room as she too comes, her tongue like a small fuck into the mouth of Grace her daughter, and they come together, shaking and near swooning. And my fingers are held firm in their tightening cunts.

They cool from their rising peak, Grace and Alexandra, and both ease themselves from my fingers. They are still close, and they each take one of my hands and lead me to the room with the bed, and where there is the door to the dove cote. The large key to the door rests upon a shelf nearby, and the door is locked.

The two women, their breasts and necks flushed a deep red with their pleasure, sit side by side upon the bed, Alexandra still with her unlaced bodice and the soft leather skirt about her waist and flowing between her legs, and Grace all naked and voluptuous curves, but for her chain and locket about her neck. My fingers trace a light touch on the locket, and there is a deep tug of some hidden memory dark within me, but I cannot place it and bring it to the light. So there is a darkness.

I stand before them, and my cock stands hard and proud between them, the risen purple head at the same level as the ripe fruit lips of their mouths. Alexandra is the first to place her hands upon my shaft, and Grace waits. Alexandra takes the rise of my shaft in one hand, and with the other she takes the weight of my balls, which are tight and risen. And she presses the length of my cock to my belly, the tip just touching my navel, and she looks upon it as if comparing it or measuring it, and then she places a single kiss to the very centre of my shaft, as if there is a small worship or remembering.

And then Alexandra runs the circle of her fingers up and down the heat of my flesh and her thumb over the ridged purple head of me, and starts a slow measured beat, up and down slowly, up and down. And with her other hand she twists and swirls upon the sharp peaks of my nipples, and a shudder connects straight to the base of my cock. Grace now has her lips to the end of my prick and her teeth nip and tug on the ripe plum head, and shudders bounce my cock in our mother's hand.

Alexandra's stroke is slow and certain, and she twists her fingers around my shaft so that the sensation is varied and strong, and her fingers are relentless. One hand is upon my shaft, steady and regular, but unbearably slow. I want her to move faster but she will not, for she knows how to prolong me better than I know myself. Her other hand caresses the heavy sac of my balls, and as they rise and tighten she grips her fingers around them and pulls them down and away from my heat, and the skin is stretched. She rolls my eggs within their sacs and squeezes gently, tugging. Her rubbing is ever so slightly faster now, and her hand stretches over my length, long and faster, then long and slower. And her gaze is on the length of my cock and her eyes widen. "Sweet boy," she sighs, "my sweet, sweet boy."

Grace makes a small mewl in her throat, and her mother starts, as if she is reminded of the girl's presence in the room, her concentration has been so intense. "Take him to your mouth, girl, and you shall drink him deep." Alexandra has passed something to Grace with those words, and with her hands firm upon my cock, the mother offers me up to the daughter, and there is a connection down through memory, made then.

Grace takes my purple red head to her lips and the tip of her tongue lances at the slit at the end there, and she pushes it wide, and her tongue is pointed and penetrates just a tiny length. Then she opens her mouth wider and sucks the whole head of my cock to her tongue, and the women hold my cock still, so that the only movement is the swirl of Grace's tongue over the head, and Alexandra's hand holds me firm and then, fuck, Grace has nipped me with her teeth. I try to push myself back to release my shaft from her mouth, but Alexandra is firm and will not let me move. Grace looks up to my face and smiles, and there is a rich blush of blood on her raspberry coloured lips, which she licks with her tongue.

"The blood, brother, it is our blood." And I know, even my slow brain knows, that the daughter has learned from the mother and will do what needs to be done to protect the blood.

And the pressure on my prick is building now, and there are now four hands grasping and pulling upon the rigid shaft, and clutching at the tight muscles of my ass, and pulling upon the tight tips of my nipples. And there are two mouths upon my prick as I am suckled first by the older woman, her last succour; and then suckled by the young woman, who is inheriting the knowledge and the duty, and between them they are making my seed rise, my seed that is the connection between them both.

She is hot and hard and firm on my prick, and her mouth is hot and her throat is deep, and there is a string of spittle, pink strung with my blood, linking their lips to my cock. Her fingers squeeze and scratch over my balls, palms cupping them. And her finger is on the bud of my ass and she enters me there and twists. Her hand is much faster now, yet still I am commanded, and her suckle is much deeper now, and still my seed is rising.

My hands and fingers are blindly grasping at air, I cannot think where to place them, for all of my sensations are focused on that tight shaft that connects the depth of the seed in my balls to the hot red swollen head that is in her mouth and there is no other space in my mind for any coherent thought at all, and she pumps and she sucks and she pushes with her finger and then my groping hands are each grasped by a hand, and their fingers interlace with mine and my hands are gripped and straightened out away from my body, and my arms are out straight like a crucifixion, their fingers lacing mine and holding my hands still and her suck is deep and her stroke is long and then there is a stillness, nothing moves, just the deep spiralling pulse about to surge within me, and all is still, my orgasm posed on the brink, and all is still, her hand has stopped, and all is still, her tongue swollen but still on my prick.

And then the world is no longer still, she makes one final gripped stroke of my shaft, she makes one long suck of my swollen prick, and then oh fuck, fuck, Christ yes, my loins surge and the hot seed explodes from my shaft and spills into her throat and she drinks me down deep. Her finger pumps in my ass and milks more from me, and that too is drunk down, but my spill is too much, and she pushes back off my cock so she does not gag, and there is a long string of my seed from the head of my prick to her Iips, and it is thick and holds together even though our flesh no longer touches.

Alexandra reaches down and takes that thread of come-laced spittle between her fingers and pulls it apart and puts it to her lips. "There, I taste both my children, my blood is safe."